


No Good Deed Goes Unpunished

by IcarusI



Category: Blaseball (Video Game)
Genre: Gen, I never write fic but uhhhhh here we are folks, Nagomi, Old One, Season 9, Tillman Henderson - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-11
Updated: 2020-10-11
Packaged: 2021-03-08 00:07:34
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 966
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26946430
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/IcarusI/pseuds/IcarusI
Summary: Tillman is contacted by the Old One who speaks to him of sacrifice.
Comments: 2
Kudos: 23





	No Good Deed Goes Unpunished

One of the few things anyone knew of the Old One who lived in the bay was that it never spoke to anyone. And it didn’t, for a long time. Not until it spoke to Tillman.

“Words!” Tillman hissed. “Aren’t you supposed to be some kind of all-knowing… _thing_? Why can’t you just tell me in words?”

_Calm. Waves. Patience. Calm. Calm. Calm._

“Uggghh.” Tillman pulled a hand through his hair and let his head fall back to look up at the sky. The sun was setting, and Tillman didn’t want to be caught dead at the pier. Definitely not during sunset – only stupid couples hung out here, holding stupid hands and gazing stupidly at the horizon as it changed stupid colours.

If you pressed him – really pressed him – Tillman couldn’t have properly explained why he was even there in the first place. He’d first felt the tug in his chest a week ago, and it’d grown over time. It was like there was an invisible string tethered between him and something else. All the time.

It wasn’t a bad feeling. And if anything, that’s what bothered him most about it. It wasn’t uncomfortable… but it was weird. Wherever Tillman was, he could feel the string coming out of his chest, pointing straight in one direction. It didn’t take him too long to figure out that it always pointed towards the bay.

This was his third time here. The first time, the thread had pointed down, and – like the imbecile he knew he was – he’d dove into the bay. That’d gotten him nothing but cold and wet on a chilly October evening. No more swimming.

The second time Tillman had let himself wander towards the edge of the bay, the thing had “spoken” to him. Not in words. No, that would be too simple. Too easy. Too comprehensible, apparently. It had flashed images into his mind. _Peanut. Nagomi. Umpire. Sacrifice_.

How “sacrifice” could even be an image, Tillman didn’t know or care. He’d simply ran the hell away and didn’t look back. Not until the next day, anyway. He’d run away like a baby. Like some kind of clown. A clown baby. He was Tillman fucking Henderson. Tillman fucking Henderson did not run in fear.

So here he was, on the pier, trying to get a straight answer out of a thing maybe older than numbers themselves.

He spoke to it slowly, like maybe it would understand him better. “What exactly,” he said, “do you want me to do? No more hieroglyphics crap.”

A bolt of what felt like lightning charged through the thread that ran from the bay and straight into his heart.

“WHAT THE FUCK, MAN?” Tillman was on his feet, his heart pounding. Every fiber in his body wanted him to run. He didn’t.

_Umpire. Sacrifice._

“You-“

_Tillman. You. Sacrifice._

“You’ve gotta be shitting me.”

_Tillman. Tillman. Tillman. Sacrifice. Sacrifice. Sacrifice. Sacrifice. Sacrifice._

“I get it!” He threw his hands in the air. Tillman realized his breathing was still fast, and he held it for as long as possible to get it to slow the fuck down.

“Now why the hell would I do that?” Tillman, against his better judgement, kneeled against the sea-stained wood of the pier to sit again.

_Nagomi. Peanut._

Tillman scoffed. “Uh huh.” 

_Peanut. Sacrifice. Freedom._

“And what makes you think I would give a flying fuck about that?”

_Peanut. God._

“Uh huh.” Why was he even here? He should get Harold on the phone and get the Bentley to come pick him up. There was that new burger place –

_God. Kill. DEATH._

Everything in Tillman froze. When his heart restarted, it snagged in his throat for a long and horrible moment.

“You can’t be saying… You’re not saying – no, you’re not even _speaking properly_!”

_Kill. God._

“We can’t! I sure would fucking love to, but that’s not possible, you absolute clown!” The Old One had lost it a long time ago, Tillman decided. He got back up to his feet, slowly. He wasn’t running this time, just walking away. He felt for his phone in his pocket –

_DEATH. DEATH DEATH DEATH DEATHDEATHDEATH DEATH –_

“STOP!”

Tillman had fallen down onto the wood, one hand clutched over an ear, the other over his chest. “ _Stop._ ”

_Calm. Waves. Calm. Tide. Time. Calm. Calm calm calm calm calm._

Tillman laughed, and it felt sour in his mouth. “Get somebody else,” he said. “Literally anybody else. You can’t be that wise if you think I’d actually do this.”

But the thread inside of him had changed. It felt different now. It had unwound – not snapped – but felt as if someone had unhooked each of the ends and wrapped it neatly into a coil. It sat heavy in his chest.

_Calm. Waves. Calm calm calm._

“There is literally no part of this that benefits me,” Tillman said. But even as he said it, he knew that wasn’t true. The devil on his shoulder had already been turning the idea over, shaking it to listen for – no. You know what? Fuck the metaphors.

“Fine,” said Tillman. “I’ll do it.”

_Joy. Gratitude. Peace._

“But not because it’s the right thing to do or whatever.”

_No, of course not._

“Oh, _now_ you talk.”

_Amusement. Waves._

“If I’m doing this, I’m doing it because it’ll be the ultimate act of throwing up the middle finger to the biggest asshole I know. If I’m doing it, it’s because I’m sure as hell going to kill a god if I damn well can.”

Tillman waited.

“Well?”

_Waves. Patience. Calm. Calm calm calm._

Tillman took a deep breath. On the horizon, only the last rays of the setting sun remained.

“What do I need to do?” He already knew the answer, but the Old One gave it to him anyway.

_Sacrifice._


End file.
